


Who Dares To Love Forever

by EmAndFandems



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Happy Ending, Immortality, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Second Person, metadrabble turned ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22604569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmAndFandems/pseuds/EmAndFandems
Summary: The thing about immortality, you see, is that it is such a very long time to be on your own.(Except one.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 72





	Who Dares To Love Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a lowercase drabble on my tumblr @lazarusemma [here](https://lazarusemma.tumblr.com/post/190692929876/the-thing-about-immortality-you-see-is-that-it), but people liked it so I figured I'd put it up here too!  
> Title from Queen's "Who Wants To Live Forever." Content warning for alcohol mention.

The thing about immortality, you see, is that it is such a very long time to be on your own.

Sure, the first few centuries slide by, and sometimes you blink and it’s the next millennium and you’re left wondering _Where does the time go_ , and you get drunk and ponder the passage of time for an indeterminate amount of time and by the time you’re sober again the humans have come up with more ways to get drunk. But it doesn’t matter how much time you waste, really, because there is always going to be more of it. Always. Forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and…

You get drunk a few more times. The evers keep coming.

The thing about Earth is that it’s neither of Heaven nor of Hell. Not in any beautiful, poetic, Pulitzer-prize metaphorical sense; Earth is just very literally not either place, and being stationed here makes it much harder to relate to those who aren’t also here. Long-distance coworkers are very difficult to get along with. So you’re here, forever, and there’s no one who _gets it._

Well. There’s one.

There shouldn’t be. There’s not supposed to be any common ground between you, but you’re on Earth, and what’s more _common ground_ than that? And so it happens that a demon and an angel strike up a conversation. And then another. And another, because you _will_ keep running into the only other face who’s remaining constant, in this mortal plane. The colleagues are so far off and he is here; and neither of you will say it but he _knows what it’s like_. To be here, to be alone, to be just a little bit lonely.

The thing about humans is that they die. When your life expectancy is an infinity sign with a bit of fine print, befriending a human is like watching a time-lapse of a sunset. A plant shriveling overnight. You can try (and you will, a few times, out of sheer desperation, a visceral longing for _someone_ ) and you can put it off as long as possible, but there’s no getting around it. You’re left with empty hands and an aching heart and another memory you will never live long enough to lose (but it would be worse to forget, wouldn’t it, and to know that you would?), and the certainty that there is no one else.

(Except one.)

The only constant, the only one who would be able to keep up, and he is absolutely off-limits. Another of the universe’s fun little jokes. But if the universe has a sense of humor, perhaps it also has a sense of drama: You do it anyway. You talk to him. You smile at him. You laugh with him.

(You love him. Oh, how you love him. There aren’t enough _ever_ sto say how much.)

The thing about fear is that sometimes it is an extension of love. You want him safe so much more than you want him to be yours. You want him – you have wanted him for so long, _so_ long, and the wonder of it is that you can want him for eons and he will still be there, he will last through the ages – but more: you want him whole, and safe, and happy. Even if he cannot be these things _and_ yours. You are used to sacrificing what you want. You haven’t gotten anything you wanted in a long, long time (so many lifetimes of desperate neediness, so many times hearing _no,_ and sometimes the voice is your own).

Hold back. Don’t let him get into any real trouble. (You can handle it; it’s him you’re worried about, always him and never yourself.) You have all the time in the world, after all; you can wait. You tell yourself you can wait. You do not ask yourself what you are waiting for.

The thing about Armageddon is that it’s an expiration date on your infinity sign. There is, abruptly, a specificity to your slice of eternity. You do not have forever. Your chance at _happily ever after_ is disappearing with the rest of the _ever_ s. Your coworkers are calling for war, for an end to life as you know it, and one of you might end and then the other will be alone: truly, properly alone for the first time. You are not capable of it.

You are also not capable of stopping it. It’s all rather a mess, but what did you expect? The world’s coming to an end. Everything’s gone wrong, and it only gets worse, and you’re on your own again. When were you last alone? He’s gone. He won’t be back.

But he is. When the disaster is averted, when the clouds part, he is still here. He is with you. The only constant. The fabric of reality has been stretched to its tearing point a dozen times in the past week but he was there as he always is. As he always will be. There is no time limit, there is no deadline.

There is an unbroken string of _ever_ s leading out into eternity and a hand in yours.

The thing about immortality, you see, is that it provides such a lot of time to spend making up for missed opportunities.

**Author's Note:**

> Please drop a comment and let me know what you thought, I love hearing from you! <3


End file.
